If I Should Wake Before I Die
by Dirk O'Reilly
Summary: What if Rose only suffered head trauma when Badrang threw her against the wall, instead of death? What would be the consequences of the injury for herself and others? Told in first person, from multiple points of view. Narration based on As I Lay Dying.
1. Death of a Flower

**A/N: It's nearly midnight, so please excuse any grammar/spelling errors, but I'd appreciate if you'd point them out. This is for the Martin/Rose contest, if you were wondering. I'd just like to mention I looked up information about head injuries and post-traumatic stress before I wrote this. And yes, I **_**know**_** Rose is out of character. But wouldn't you, if you got thrown against a stone wall?**

**One more thing, just to mention it in case anyone notices, I got the idea for the style based on the book **_**As I Lay Dying**_**, by William Faulkner.**

Blink. Blink. I _hurt_. Not just any one part of me, all of me. It starts in my head, in the back, then creeps down my neck and spine, spreading its wrathful fingers into my body. Right around my ribcage, right around to where my lungs touch each time I breathe and where my heart pounds each time it beats.

It doesn't stop there – one of my legs feels funny. It's more of a dull throb compared to the rest of me, but I can tell it would like to bend somewhere other than just my knee. Something's blocking it, but it wants to resist.

I blink again. The sunlight makes the front of my head hurt too. I decide to keep my eyes close. Never mind, I know the sunlight's still there, my forehead still pounds. This time when I blink I let my eyes stay open.

Why do I hurt so much? I can't remember, but it must have taken a lot. The only time I ever came close to hurting this much was when – when – I was... I can't remember. I search for some comparison, but nothing seems to be there. I have not been, I merely am and will be. But if I will be, will I be able to remember when I was?

That slurry of a sentence makes my very brain hurt more, so I let it go. Now I'm thirsty, and I notice my body feels unnaturally warm. The sand I'm on is cool against my fur, therefore this burning heat is internal. Is it bad? Probably. None of me is currently in good shape...maybe this occurs along with pain?

I can't remember, but that doesn't bother me. Should it? I can't remember that either, because I can't remember not remembering something other than right now.

This thinking is making me feel even worse. Maybe I should just cool down. How do I cool down? I can't remember ever being hot before this. I lay a moment thinking: The sand beneath me is cool. My back is cooler than any other part of me. I'll try to surround myself with sand.

The idea seems simple, just roll over and shove myself down until I'm covered. I forgot I'm in pain. For the first time I feel worried, or what I imagine is worried. I can't remember worrying about something, or what types of things somebeast should worry about.

I keep laying there. I was going to do something...what was it? Never mind, it probably wasn't important. There's a mouse above me, staring at me. My forehead hurts, so does my left leg. The mouse is quiet. Why is he here if he's quiet? Seems rather pointless.

_What do you want? _Is there a reason he doesn't – Dark Forest, does my leg hurt now.

"How are you, Rose?" I look at the mouse. Since when has he been here? He's rather handsome, I wish he'd stay.

_Who's Rose? _I ask him another question. Sand is starting to blow on me. It will cool me down. That seems like a familiar thought. Nothing else does. I should focus on that thou-

"Can you hear me, Rose?"

_Of course, you imbecile. I think you're the one who can't hear me. Can't you see I'm busy. _Wait, I'm busy? Doing what? One of my ribs gives a sudden spasm of pain into my system. My over-heated system.

I'm burning up! Why won't somebeast come cool me down? Water...so thirsty. The mouse still stares. Why can't he go get me water, instead of standing there, staring like an idiot.

_Why aren't you helping me? _I feel some other emotion creeping in...panic seems to describe it. It's like foreboding, fear, and pain all at once. It needs to go away, it doesn't feel nice. I'll move away from it. My waist doesn't want to bend upwards, so I thrash my good leg and arms, trying to get the mouse's attention.

He bends over me, still staring, this time directly into my eyes. _Help me, help me, _I scream. He doesn't move, just says something useless – again. Why won't anyone help me? I hurt so much. Make it stop! Please, make it stop! Something bad's coming.

The mouse is too close to me. He isn't helping, he will hurt me. I thrash more. Won't anyone come and save me? The mouse grabs my paws. "Rose, calm down," he screams in turn. I can't calm down. If I relax I'll be hurt. I have to keep moving.

Why does it hurt to move? I can't even remember not hurting...how do I know this isn't how I'm _supposed _to feel? This makes me panic more. I whack out wildly with my right footpaw, the only one not being held or immobile. It touches the mouse.

He is warm. I'm warm. Warm feels bad. The mouse is bad. Bad creatures want to hurt me. Wait, how do I know that? I can't remember not hurting. Maybe I'm supposed to be in pain, and he's helping me stay in pain. That makes him good.

No, he's not good. My forehead hurts. The sun is making it hurt. I close my eyes again. The darkness makes some pain recede.

Darkness is good. The mouse is in the light. The mouse is bad. Aren't I in the light too? All right, I'm bad. Then I should be with other bad creatures.

I open my eyes again. The mouse is still watching me. Another one touches my face. Where did he come from? I need to keep my eyes open. When my eyes are open, I can see the light, and all the bad things are in the light.

Something cool touches my lips. Cool seems like an idea I just thought about. _What is this? _I ask, but this mouse doesn't answer me either. I decide just to accept whatever he is giving me. Something cool and calming runs down my throat. My eyes close and remain that way.

The dark makes some of the pain go away.

* * *

I scrub my sword off on my tunic. I feel like I'm being stabbed in the heart as I do so. It's the same tunic I wore when Rose and I went to the celebration at Noonvale together. That event is still fresh in my mind, but its slowly fading. Funny, isn't it, the harder you think about one thing, and all its details, the more hazy and foggy they become.

All I remember for certain now is us holding paws. And that _feeling_. That warm, burning sensation at the back of my neck and head. Not just that, but somehow knowing Rose felt that same way too. It was the most beautiful thing ever.

Well – not quite. Rose herself was still more beautiful.

But the, there's no better word for it, _thrill_ of touching her and her touching me and knowing we both felt the same way, without either one of us saying a word...

That could all go away! I jam my sword into the sand. Hate wells up inside me. Not just against Badrang. He is dead, gone, meaningless. I hate my father. I wish he had not given me his stupid sword. Not made me promise to keep it safe forever. Not made me attack Badrang for it and put Rose in danger. I hate him, for all those things. But most of all –

I hate myself. For putting an _object_, of all things, before the safety of Rose. We could have stayed in Noonvale, gone somewhere else safe. Wherever she wanted, wherever _we_ wanted. I now I might loose all that.

_We _might loose all that. And it's all my fault. Her blood will stain my paws forever.

"Martin." A brown paw rests on my shoulder. I look down at the ground. I do not want to talk to anybeast right now, except Rose. "Martin," Barkjon says again. He's not going to leave unless I speak with him.

I sigh. "Yes?" What is the emotion I can sense coming from him? Sadness, regret?

"Martin, Brome sent me to tell you Rose is awake." I whirl instantly at this.

"That's wonderful! How is she? She's going to live, isn't she?" Normally I would race off to Rose's side, but Barkjon stays me with a paw.

Barkjon bowed his head momentarily, before looking me in the eye. "There's something you need to know."

"What? What is it?" I can hear the fear in my voice. Fear isn't an admirable quality. I can't remember showing my fear before. I can't remember being in love before.

"Rose...she...Rose is not herself. She suffered trauma to the head when she hit the wall." Badrang is dead, I cannot get revenge on him twice. "Brome doesn't know when she'll recover. Or if," Barkjon added quietly.

"She's not herself? Why, what's wrong?" I can't remember being this terrified before. I can't remember ever being in love before.

"The trauma caused amnesia. Severe amnesia. She also has no focus, Brome's already tried talking to her. One moment she thought he was going to help her, the next she forgot he even existed, the next she was sure he was going to kill her." The tight feeling in my stomach and the burning in my chest is fear. I've never felt it this way before. "Brome also thinks it's most likely she's suffering from post-traumatic stress. Martin, she's different. She's not the Rose from before." Barkjon's eyes bore into mine. I've never been in love before.

You can only love once.

* * *

Rose. I touch her face with a paw.

My sister. I slide my paw down to her neck.

My rescuer. I feel her soft, beautiful fur.

I am her betrayer. Suddenly, I feel the light pulse under my paw. No, this cannot be real. The blow should have killed her. I rip at her tunic, frantically placing my paw over her heart. I shut my eyes, but open them in amazement as I feel the faint beating beneath it.

Adrenaline hits my body like icewater. Barkjon is a few yards away, searching among the bodies for any more wounded woodlanders or former slaves. I hear myself call his name hoarsely. He looks to me, flinching slightly at the sudden noise.

His eyes meet mine, before traveling to where my paw is still resting on Rose's chest. He understands instantly. He looks around, but nobeast is nearby. The squirrel bounds over and picks Rose up with as much tenderness as he can manage. I try to help me, but Barkjon shakes his head.

"Go prepare a spot on the beach for her. Get your supplies. I can carry her," Barkjon orders me quietly. I run ahead, briefly looking back when I reach the front gates of Marshank. Barkjon is picking his way slowly and carefully through the carnage. The sight of all that blood turns my stomach again, but I have no time to vomit, and I doubt I have anything left _to _vomit.

I run ahead, but it's like a bad dream where you can't go fast enough. I force myself to slow down, thinking of what I need. Yarrow appears at my side when he notices me clearing off a spot in the sand. He looks up to where Barkjon is. "I will get what is needed to set her leg."

I nod, not even processing the information until after Yarrow has left, searching for splinting materials, and hopefully something to kill the pain with. I rummage in my own healer's bag. I don't know what I can do for head trauma, I will have to let nature run its course.

Barkjon lays Rose softly on the patch of prepared sand, just as Yarrow returns as well. He goes to attend to Rose's leg, but I stop him. "I'll do it," I murmur quietly.

My rescuer...I would be dead without her.

My sister...she is my own flesh and blood.

Rose...I cannot lose her.

Barkjon pulls me away from her after her leg is properly set and splinted. "Brome, I understand how you're feeling." Does he? He lost Felldoh, but he always knew he would lose Felldoh like that. There's still hope for Rose.

I watch my sister, her slow breathing. "No, you don't. No one does."

"Martin does." Barkjon puts a comforting arm around my shoulder. I want him to be the father I wish I'd had. I want to be the son he no longer has.

"How can he?" I want Martin to, I want to feel like someone understands me.

"Well, for one, he also blames himself." Barkjon looks down at me, squeezing my shoulder. "He also feels helpless, thinking it was his fault, but not knowing how to fix it. Now, _that _is a feeling I understand." Barkjon lets go of me and walks away.

I do feel helpless, as I walk over to Rose. My heart pounds as I notice her stir. She looks up at me with unfocused eyes. Suddenly, she lunges her paw into mine. I hang on to it, and squeeze, trying to pour my love for her into her. Just as quickly as her paw was there, it was gone. She was looking around, without moving her head, taking everything in.

Her gaze met mine, and – it was the last thing I expected – she tried to run. By run, I mean basically trying to crawl on her back. As I touch her face in what I hope is a comforting manner, she passes out again.

I find Barkjon, and explain to him what happened. He just nods sadly. "Do you think Martin could help her?" I want to help Rose, but other than treating her medically, I seem to have failed.

Barkjon shrugs. "We don't have many choices." His words are morbid. I close my eyes, willing them away. "I'll go talk to him." The squirrel walks away down the beach, where I can vaguely see a mouse sitting and staring out to sea.

I hear moans coming from farther down the line of injured creatures, and with one final glance at Rose, dart away to go help other patients.

The sight of blood sickens me on an old mousewife who had fought. She has awakened briefly from her unconsciousness, and is moaning. I don't want to know what kind of pain she's in. She has lost too much blood through a long gash on her thigh. It was obvious a main artery had been hit, but I put a tourniquet on and hoped. I always knew it would never be enough.

She looks at me faintly, her eyes glazed. She does not have much longer. I sit down next to her, propping her up against me, with her facing the sea, and her head on my shoulder. Something the mouse sees makes her smile contentedly and she passes on to the Dark Forest. I double-check, feeling several times and in several places for her pulse or breathing, but she is dead.

I think about how I hate that word – _dead _– as I carry her corpse – yet another hated word – towards where moles and others who want to help are digging graves and making markers. Dead seems so final, makes the creature seem so...gone. Like the creature is lost and everyone's given up searching. Corpse is the same thing. What was once a living, breathing, thinking, _feeling_ he or she, has been reduced to a pile of flesh, fur, and bones, but more importantly, an _it_. Their identity is gone.

I walk back from the _bodies _of creatures who have _passed on_.

I spot Rose thrashing around again this time, as Martin watches, a look of pain on his face. It's an expression I'd not seen him use before. By the time I get there, Rose is just watching Martin like prey watches a predator.

I gently touch her face with my paw, using the other to open a canteen of water at my waist. I push it to her lips, and after a moment of hesitation, she drinks and drifts off.


	2. Death of a Warrior

**A/N: Be forewarned, there follows Martin/Rose fluff. I suck at fluff. Just letting you know. **

**And, yes, Rose's little "reaction" – once you read the chapter you'll know what I mean – is a perfectly legitimate symptom of post-traumatic stress. One last note before I stop blathering, I realize Martin might sound out of character in his section, but keep in mind he's not showing what he's feeling. I shall shut up now. **

I open my eyes. It is sunset, and the clouds are all sorts of pretty colors, where the sunlight dapples them. The silhouettes of a few seabirds stand out black against them, others I can make out vaguely, closer to the water. If I move my eyes right, I can even see some trying to get at our wounded and dead, but many creatures have volunteered to keep them at bay.

My stomach growls, and I realize I am very hungry. I can't remember the last time I ate. I try to sit up, but my body protests, shaking with wracks of pain. Never mind that, I'll just call somebeast. I'll just call – wait, why can't I remember anybeast I could call? There are dark voids in my head where their names should be. Where _my _name should be.

Do creatures even have names, or is this just a fantasy of mine? Waves of panic flood crash over me, just as the frothy waves of water are hitting the shoreline a short distance from me. Why can't I remember anything?

Is there such a thing as memory? What if there's nothing _to _remember? Am I just a newborn in an older creature's body?

How do I know I exist?

Because I am alive, I feel, I think, I know.

The next moment I can remember all that, but if there is no such thing as memory?

My head hurts. I will give up this thinking until after I eat something. I have no choice but to wait patiently. It doesn't seem so bad, just watching the sea. It's calm and peaceful in the absence of a breeze. I have an urge to touch the water, just as a baby wishes to chew on new things.

But I have to wait. I cannot move, and the water is far enough away I can't wriggle down to it. I go back to watching the sun set. There are no more birds. They must have gone home.

Where is my home? Do I even have a home? I really need to someone to talk to about all of this. I need to wait patiently. As the top tip of the sun disappears beneath the horizon – the sun must have a home too, I note quickly – I hear voices approaching.

The creatures stop beside me, two mice and an old squirrel. The younger mouse carries a satchel at his side, the older a sword. I study their faces. Are they real? Am I real? Are we non-existent together?

Wait, the sword. I remember that. I can't remember why or from where, but suddenly, unexpectedly even, adrenaline floods my body as I watch the glittering blade. The sea calls to me.

Where it once hurt to move, my muscles ripple smoothly underneath my fur as I roll myself towards the water. If I was walking it would only be a few pawsteps, and even now, rolling, I build up momentum quickly. My body hits the water, and my fur plasters to my body.

I am small and vulnerable, unsafe from the sword. I need to keep moving. I don't know why, I don't even think it is a matter of memory, it feels more like an instinct. A bird does not question why it should fly, and I do not question why I need to run.

My head is underwater now, and panic releases even more adrenaline. Why can't I breathe? I need to breathe. I remember lying on the beach minutes ago, breathing softly and shallowly. Breathing is an instinct, but so is running from the sword. I will die if I breathe, I will die if I touch the sword. My good leg wobbles on the sand and I thrust my head into the air.

The sweet fresh air. My lungs fill and empty quickly, almost like I am hyperventilating. Paws grab me and take me back to where I was laying. The sand goes gritty and nasty under my back. I want to move, but the paws hold me down. Finally, I can breathe again, but I'm cold, so cold. Every part of me aches even more now.

I feel paws against my fur again, but this time it is an embrace. The younger mouse has his face buried into my chest and is sobbing softly. I don't know why he's sad, but my maternal instinct kicks in and I want to comfort him. I stroke his soft head with my paw. As I do so, I remember wanting to discuss my problems with somebeast. Maybe he does too. _Why are you crying_, I ask. Again, nobeast answers me. This surprises me, but I let it go for the moment.

My paw is knocked away as the older mouse taps the younger mouse. "May I cut in?" The younger mouse nods and backs away, to stand in the squirrel's arms. "My sweet Rose," murmurs the older mouse as he bends down towards me. He is as tender in his motions as the younger mouse, but in a slightly different way.

It feels like he is acting forward towards me. I can't even remember who he is, yet his eyes are glassy and teary as he reaches his arms around me. I should move, it's forward, I should move.

I don't move, the small explosion in my stomach as he hugs me is too much. My whole body feels like it's on fire, but not from pain this time. The emotion is so overwhelming I want to –

The mouse's sword brushes against me.

* * *

I am sitting next to Martin on the sand, the waves licking our footpaws, as he continues to polish his sword. He is no longer using his tunic, but a rag he found somewhere. I think it was one Brome had, because it is not soaked in blood, like everything else is. Even some of the sand near Marshank is caked red. It stings my heart to look at it, for I know some of it must be Felldoh's blood.

Martin is still polishing his sword. I look over at him, surprised by the sudden stop of movement. He is gazing out to sea, and I think I see a couple tears in his eyes. "It's not your fault, Martin," I say quietly. He looks at the foamy sea spray.

"Yes, it is." He paused a minute, gaining his composure. "She came with me, I could have made her stay." I smile wryly.

"Martin, would you love her if she _had_ stayed?" He glares at me, before sighing, defeated. He bows his head. Only Rose could ever make him bow his head. I can't stand to see Martin look so melancholy, so I offer a suggestion.

"Let's go visit Rose." All right, it came out more as a command than a suggestion, but Martin needs to do something. He never was one for sitting and doing nothing.

_No_, polishing his sword repeatedly does not count as doing something.

I stand up and pull Martin to his footpaws. He hasn't replied, but I don't care. As we move down the shoreline, I pause and say hello to the patients that are awake, whether or not they're well enough to respond.

Martin and I stop when we see Brome walking in the opposite direction. I wave at him, and he walks over. "We were just on our way to visit Rose. Why don't you come along?" Brome looks tired; dark circles are ringing their way under his brown eyes. He nods and joins us at the water's edge.

"How is Rose?" Both Brome and I start at Martin's sudden words. He has been very quiet since the battle.

Brome watches Martin a moment. "I don't know. She may be better, she may be worse." He reaches a paw around me and grabs Martin's arm. The three of us stop. "Martin, she's probably suffered brain damage. She can rest to heal her concussion and her leg will mend. But I can do nothing for her state of mind." He walks quickly forward, followed by Martin and I. When I look at Martin, I know he is still hoping for a magical cure that will make Rose completely normal.

He has always been one for hope.

We have almost reached Rose. Brome says, "Her eyes are open. I believe she is awake." What is the other option? Dead? I know that's a possibility, but I have always been one for hope as well.

We stand there and watch Rose. She seems better than before. She is carefully observing us, tracing our faces with her eyes. First myself, then Brome, and finally Martin. Her eyes linger the longest on him, before drawing away, then suddenly they snap onto the warrior's sword. It glints, even in the almost-dark, he polished it so much.

Rose explodes. She rolls onto her side and down towards the sea. The movement shocks us all, but we snap back into reality as she goes underwater. There's no way she would be able to swim, or even get herself to the surface.

I realize I have underestimated her as we plunge into the warm water. Her head breaks the surface, and all three of us grab onto her. Brome and Martin each take a shoulder, while I lift her legs, being extra careful with the broken one. We lift her back onto her depression on the shore. There is a blurry line in the sand, flanked by our pawprints, from the commotion.

I look back to the three mice, to find Brome sobbing into Rose's fur. She is consoling him wordlessly, and I do not know if that is a good sign or not. Martin steps forward, eyes shining with longing. He mumbles something to Brome, who withdraws into my arms. I wrap them around the young mouse's body. Sometimes I forget how young he is.

Martin dips forward to hug Rose, who looks wary and confused. I almost say something to stop Martin, but that seems cruel. As soon as Martin hugs Rose, she relaxes, snuggling deeper into the embrace, trying to hug him back weakly.

Brome and I race forward again as Martin's sword brushes against Rose's leg.

* * *

I hate myself.

I could jump from Marshank's wall. The drop isn't far enough.

I hate myself.

I could swim out to sea and drown myself. Too many creatures would try to save me.

I hate myself.

I'm supposed to be brave and strong. For Rose. I'm a coward and afraid.

I hate myself...

Barkjon is sitting next to me, while I continually polish my sword. It's already clean, but it's a comforting motion. I manage to keep my expression blank; everybeast seems to think it's a handsome, stoic look. No one understands what I'm going through, because they all think it isn't my fault. But it is. If Rose never remembers anything, it will be all my fault. No one _can _understand, because they all have to think I'm fine.

Except Rose. But Rose may be dying, or permanently scarred, and it's all my fault. Now, if I _dove _from Marshank I would die. I stop, looking at the sea, seriously contemplating the idea.

No, Rose needs me. I can't abandon her again. _Again_. I hate that word. Like I hated Badrang. Except a thousand times stronger.

"It's not your fault, Martin," Barkjon says to me, watching me intently. Did he know what I was thinking? It doesn't matter, I don't care anymore.

"Yes, it is," I reply, almost wanting to share my feelings, but I stop myself. Heroic and strong, remember? "Martin, would you love her if she _had_ stayed?" None of this would have happened... She would be safe and happy in Noonvale.

I would hate her. I don't say anything, but express my emotions by glaring at Barkjon. "Let's go visit Rose." Fear clutches at my heart. What if she doesn't know me again? What if she doesn't love me anymore? What if she's dead? What if she hates me?

Barkjon pulls me up. Heroic and brave. Cowardly and terrified. I watch the sea as we walk, glad for the delays as Barkjon compassionately talks to those who are awake. I want to slap him, and I don't know why. I've been angry before, but never like this – frustrated and sad. I feel like someone's chopping at my heart. I want to go and chop that person's head off. It's like all the pain I've ever felt is inside me.

Brome passes us, on the other side of the patients. Barkjon says something to him, but I'm not really listening. Maybe I could drown myself, the sea is calling me with its siren song. I do not fear death.

We're walking again, and I hadn't even realized it. "How is Rose?" I suddenly ask. I need to know. Is my life still worth living?

"I don't know. She may be better, she may be worse. Martin, she's probably suffered brain damage. She can rest to heal her concussion and her leg will mend. But I can do nothing for her state of mind."

We walk onwards, after a stop I had not noticed us taking, and I see Rose. I want to run, but towards or away from her I cannot decide. "Her eyes are open. I believe she is awake," Brome says, non-committally.

Rose watches us, watches me. I now know I want to run to her. She shifts, and I wonder momentarily what is happening as she rolls towards the sea. It too is calling her. She will die, and it will be my fault. I race after her, followed by Brome and Barkjon. Together we haul her back to shore. She looks so young and small, fur stuck at odd angles, making her seem miniscule.

I want to hug her, but Brome beats me to it. I watch the way she is stroking him. I want her to stroke me. "May I cut in?" I ask Brome, not caring how stupid I sound. He moves away and I bend slowly down towards Rose. "My sweet Rose." I barely realize I have said that aloud. Her eyes are wide and scared. Does she not love me? She does not move away.

My arms encircle her. Joy rushes through me as her arms go around my waist. I lean forward, on my knees now. My sword swings forward and brushes her fur.

She jerks, and I worry I may have cut her. She wants to move away, but I refuse to let go. She struggles feebly, but she is too exhausted and injured to break my grasp.

"Rose, Rose, what's wrong?" I think I'm yelling, but I don't know, and I don't care. I want Rose to feel safe. Brome brushes against my side and takes my sword from my belt. I watch, still hugging Rose, as he holds it behind his back. Once Rose can no longer see it, she relaxes into my arms, limp and cold.

I want to hold her closer, but Brome separates us with one paw, still holding the sword behind his back with the other. He pulls me back away from Rose. She watches me closely, I can feel her eyes. I watch her peripherally.

"Martin," Brome says. "I told you she might be having some sort of post-traumatic stress. I think the sword reminds her of Badrang, since he had it when she was thrown. She doesn't appear to remember anything, so she's not consciously connecting it, and isn't really able to sort things through logically."

"Give me the sword." I'm not thinking logically either. Rose is still watching me, and recoils when she sees me take the sword from Brome. I wade into the water until it's up to my shoulders. I swing the sword out of the water and into the air. Water slides from the hilt down my paws. I lock eyes with Rose, before looking up to the stars.

Father, I promised never to let any creature take this sword from me. I failed at that and nearly lost what I loved. I cannot fail Rose like you failed Sayna. I don't say the words aloud, but I want Rose to hear them. I want her to know I'd do anything to have her back, normal, safe, healthy.

I back up in the water until my arms clear the surface. I raise the sword above my head, and with a yell, I hurl it out as far as I can. There is a splash and it is gone. I watch the waves for a few minutes.

The sword was what _had _mattered, but now it is gone. I can never almost lose everything I had to keep it safe. I can never hurt Rose again.

Without my weapon, I can protect the one I love.

**A/N: **Wow, Martin came out more angsty than intended. I know how very out-of-charater it sounds, and someone/people will probably flame me. I doesn't really bother me, but if you _are_ going to flame me, keep in mind that Martin appears normal to everybeast else. Also, in MtW, Polleekin (sp?) says she's heard him crying about Rose, so almost losing her _would_ make him more emotional than normal.


	3. Death of a Virtue

**A/N: Hello, kiddies. (Don't worry, I'll call everyone that.) It's been awhile, hasn't it? coughs nervously Well, that doesn't matter, because now it's summer. I plan to actually update regularly now. So, plan to see updates for this story on **_**Tuesdays**_**, for the next five weeks. (After that I'm going on vacation, but I may work something out.)**

**As always, I apologize for any OOCness, but it's difficult, working with characters that weren't given very...shall we say, **_**complex**_**, personalities in the book. And I apologize for the accent during the first narration. I had to go from memory what it was like, so I probably made it too strong.1**

**Warning, this chapter briefly discusses suicide. If, for whatever reason, that bothers you, consider yourself warned. **

'E's dead. I've seen the corpse. 'E _is_ dead.

Stupid woodlander slaves. I can't dig a nice liddle ole grave fer 'im, what wid them runnin' 'round Marshank like they own the place.

But they won't find me, ho no, they won't. 'E couldn't find me inside o' 'is own fortress, so they don't even 'ave a 'ope.

Which is good, because they need to pay. Not all o' 'em, ho no. I'm not stupid, I know they outnumber me. But if one o' 'em, led's say, _disappears _in the swamp during the night, if you understand what I'm sayin'...

I might keep 'em a liddle while, maybe get 'em to build me a liddle boat. Ho yes, a liddle boat would be nice. Ever since 'e burned mine, I 'aven't set paw on a deck. 'Twould be nice to do that agin.

I watch 'em. One o' 'em's singin' preddy-like. Wonder what 'e'd sound like if I slowly sliced 'im open wid my cutlass. Ho yes, I'd bet _that'd _be a pretty song.

They're talkin' now, some nonsense I'm sure. Wait a moment, I recognize that 'un. 'E's the one that kilt _'im_, robbed me o' that pleasure. It's 'isfault.

'E needs to pay. Stupid other mice are keepin' too close to 'im. 'Specially that liddle maid. Wonder what kind o' song she'd sing iffen I starved 'er to death.

That'll 'ave to wait, though. That mouse is gonna be takin' a liddle trip wid me soon. Iffen by liddle you mean ne'er-endin'.

* * *

"You will find me at Noonvale,  
"On the side of a hill.  
"When the summer is peaceful and high,  
"Where streamlets meander the valley is still,  
"'Neath the blue of a calm cloudless sky.  
"Look for me at dawn,  
"When the earth is asleep,  
"'Til each dewdrop is kissed by the day.  
"'Neath the rowan and alder,  
"A vigil I'll keep,  
"Every moment that you are away.  
"The old earth gently turns as the seasons change slowly,  
"Every flower and leaf born to wane.  
"Hear my song o'er the lea,  
"Like the wind soft and lowly,  
"And come back to Noonvale again."

Brome ends his song, which was rather pleasantly sung with the young mouse's yet unchanged tenor voice. It is Rose's song, and there's a deep burning passion within me to hear her sing it again. But she isn't anywhere near the state of being capable of doing so.

It calms me more though, to see her walking around. Granted, Rose needs crutches, which somebeast fitted for her, and Brome is constantly warning her against jostling the leg. I want to slap him every time he does that. She's not stupid, but he's treating her like she is.

Rose is so scared of everything, and it hurts me so much. She's like many of the slaves were, just not quite as submissive. Every little thing petrifies her. And some of the big things too.

Like me.

We're on the cliffs watching the sunrise, and if I look down I can see the surf crashing on the rocks below. I want to crash on them, too. Then Rose won't be scared of me anymore. It could be the one thing I do for her that actually _helps _her.

But I've done nothing in my life worthwhile. I'm not scared of dying, but I want to feel like I've accomplished som-

There I go again, being selfish. I should just jump. I watch the rocks, trying to decide whether to dive or just jump. Diving would kill me faster and with less pain.

I'll jump.

I'm teetering on the edge, waiting for the perfect moment and bracing myself, when I hear a strangled sound from behind me. Rose is standing there, balancing on her crutches with only one leg on the ground, her tunic rumpled, staring at me.

Her eyes blaze angrily, as she glares at me. Brome is watching intently, his eyes shifting back and forth, and after a few moments he finally understands what I was about to do. "Come away from there, Martin," he barely whispers, and puts a paw on my back. I slowly turn and go in the direction Brome's guiding me, appalled at what I almost did.

I nearly hurt Rose again.

* * *

It's dawn. I'm awake. I know my name. My name is Rose. The strangest mouse called me Rose. This realization doesn't seem very important, because will I ever need to call myself anything? The others can call me what they will, that doesn't seem important either.

It's still dark out, but I don't mind. It's almost always dark – when I'm sleeping, at night, at dusk, at dawn. The day is light, but I don't really like it then. The darkness is like a blanket: Just like a little toddler will feel like he's safe from monsters when he's under a blanket, I feel safe from pain in my darkness.

Of course, there's still pain here. My leg isn't throbbing anymore, but I'm not exactly ready to go bounding over the dunes. I have a headache, but something instinctive tells me that's normal. I can't think of why my head _should_ hurt, but it seems perfectly natural that it does.

I drag myself into a semi-sitting position, keeping my head on the sand to help stay the pounding. The waves are hitting the shore, lapping it more than crashing. I believe the word to describe it would be peaceful. The stillness just magnifies everything, as everybeast surrounding me sleeps deeply and no birds are out hunting yet.

I see paws approaching me and I look up. The old squirrel from yesterday is there. His fur is silvering and his face is lined. The word that pops into my head is tired. I've barely even thought about tired in the sleepy and fatigued sense, but it fits the squirrel. Before, he held his head and shoulders erect, back straight; there were plenty of creatures around then. Now, when he thinks nobeast is watching, his head is bowed and his shoulders slump. He looks like he could just sit down and die.

He continues walking, and I notice he has two oddly carved sticks under his arm. I sit up a little more as he approaches. The squirrel's eyes flicker up and the change is immediate. His head snaps upright, his shoulders tug back.

"Good morning," he says quietly. "Do you know who I am?" I nod slightly. He is the old squirrel that wants to die; I know who he is. He smiles wanly. "I made these for you. It must be terribly boring, just sitting here." _It's not boring. It's just quiet and dark. That's all you really want, too. And to be left alone. _He can't hear my thoughts. I've worked that much out, but I decide to think it anyway, wondering if can sense it.

The squirrel hands me the sticks. I hold them in one paw, as he pulls me up with the other. I wobble crazily, standing only on one leg. He lets me lean on him for support. I look at the sticks, and then realize what they're for. I tuck one stick under each of my arms, and the old squirrel that wants to die lets go of me.

It's difficult at first, as the ends of the sticks sink slightly into the sand. The squirrel and I move onto the damp sand, where the sticks get a firmer grip. This is almost fun, planting my good footpaw and then swinging the crutches forward with the rest of my body.

"How about we find Martin and Brome?" the squirrel suggests.

_All right,_ I agree. I'm not quite sure who Martin and Brome are, but I think they might be the mice from yesterday. My stomach flutters when I think of the one who hugged me. I can't remember what word describes that feeling, but it doesn't matter. Words aren't really important, are they?

The squirrel who wants to die and I make our way up the beach. I see a young mouse and older mouse, a little older than me, in the distance. The young mouse is lying on the sand, but his eyes are open. The other is staring out to sea. I look away from the older mouse. I'm uncomfortable with how happy he makes me feel. There's so much pain and...and _darkness _surrounding us; I shouldn't feel happy.

However, I keep swinging alongside the squirrel. The young mouse stands, and both mice move towards us. The young mouse comes forward and touches my paw. I want the other one to touch my paw. Wait, what am I thinking? Even if I wasn't all – _strange_, why should he like me? I can't remember what he was like. What if I never knew him before I started feeling this way? That would be humiliating. I should just ignore him the best I can.

"Rose," the young mouse says, "do you know who I am?" I stare into the young mouse's eyes. I don't recognize anything.

_You are the young mouse. _Descriptions seem better than names.

The young mouse watches sadly, before saying, "My name is Brome, he," Brome indicates the squirrel that wants to die, "is Barkjon, and he is Martin."

_All right. It's not like I can call them by their names. _

Barkjon had glanced in our direction when Brome said his name. "How about we go up on the cliffs to watch the sunrise?" the squirrel asked.

"That sounds nice," Martin remarked, but I noticed he was looking at me, not at Barkjon. Just a little creepy. What _was _our relationship like before I became this way? I shudder and think I may not want to know.

Our little group sets off towards the cliffs. Brome keeps warning me that jostling my leg will unset the bone. I ignore his warnings. The dull pain is a better reminder than the chattering mouse. Brome keeps up a steady one-sided conversation the entire way up. I tune him out, partly because I'm focused on using my crutches and partly because it's so annoying. I wish he'd shut up.

I'm starting to regret moving up next to Brome, rather than walking with Martin and Barkjon. Well, I'm _almost_ regretting it; Martin is pretty creepy. Can't he look at something other than me? I wish it was darker, then he couldn't see me as well.

We finally get to the top of the cliffs, and walk close to the edge of them. Brome makes sure I stay far away from the rim, which is even more irritating than his ceaseless chatter. Just because I'm all _strange_, doesn't mean I'm stupid. I'm not going to try to fly or anything like that. I would've moved closer, but Martin's finally standing in front of me, so I don't have to feel his eyes boring into my back any longer. I feel almost at peace again.

Except the sun is rising, which is making it less dark, and Martin's head is blocking my view. It's my turn to watch him, as I notice him leaning forward, looking not out, but down. Down – down to the rocks and deep water.

He means to kill himself.

I can instinctively sense that.

He may be creepy, but death is never good. I've been near all the patients Brome's been tending to, and I've seen some of them die. I don't understand how someone could wish death upon themselves. I need to stop Martin.

_Stop! _I know it's no good. He can't hear me. Nobeast can. But I can't remember how to speak.

I give a strangled, frustrated sob.

It works on accident. The mouse turns and I glare at him. Death is evil; I have a vague feeling at that moment I once almost died. How _dare_ he try to do that? It's like committing suicide in front of a dying creature.

"Come away from there, Martin," I hear Brome say, as if from a great distance. Martin follows Brome away, and I watch them go. Barkjon stands with me, and I flinch when he touches my shoulder.

"Rose..." he trails off. I swing away before he can make further comment.

* * *

"Martin, why did you almost ki - do that?" I ask the older mouse frantically. The strong brave warrior does not have his stoic composure back, and it scares me to see his true feelings. Martin's supposed to be strong, invincible even.

It was scary to see him as something else.

Martin has his head buried in his paws. "Brome, just leave me alone," he says thickly through the fur. He sounds like he's crying.

"Martin, don't cry. Everything's all right now. You'll see. Why, I bet even-"

Martin cut me off. "Brome, you're too young, you don't understand. No matter what I do, I hurt Rose!" The frustration is evident in his voice, as he continues murmuring under his breath to himself, but I can't hear. I reel from his comment about me being too young – why does _everybeast_ always say that – but then I think of Rose.

She _does_ seem to be scared of Martin, avoiding him and even just the way she glances at him. I hear a rustling in the nearby bushes, and both Martin and I freeze, but it is only Barkjon that emerges. Martin returns his head to his paws, and I walk over to Barkjon.

"Do something," I beg him quietly. The squirrel nods and I trail him back to Martin.

"Martin?"

"Go away," comes the muffled reply.

"Maybe I'm not the one who needs to go away," Barkjon responds. Martin doesn't say anything else.

"What do you mean, Barkjon?" I finally pipe up. The silence is heavy and uncomfortable.

"Maybe you should leave, Martin. There's nothing left for you here."


	4. Death of a Hero

**A/N: I know I said I'd update every week, but that didn't really work out. I plan on updating one story a week, so plan to see this story updated around the 23****rd**** again. That might vary a little depending on my homework, but sometime around then.**

**One note on this chapter, I know the cliffs were shown to the north on the map, but they were referred to and labeled as the **_**southern **_**cliffs, so I'll be flipping the southern cliffs and the northern hills from the way they were shown on the map.**

"'Ungry, Martin?" Starwort asks me as he ladles porridge into the bowl I'm holding out. I say nothing, and try to stare him down, but have to lower my gaze. I could have faced Badrang's army alone without blinking, but now I have to look away. "Martin, are you all right?"

I walk away as I see Marigold touch her husband's arm lightly and mutter, "Let 'im alone fer now."

_For now._ The words echo in my head. How long is "for now"? Until Rose gets better? Until Rose doesn't get better? No – Rose _will_ get better. _There's nothing left for you here. _Barkjon obviously doesn't think so.

What is better anyways? When she is physically better? When she is mentally better? When she can speak?

When she loves me again. _Again. _What if she never loved me? I looked down at my now half-empty bowl of porridge, suddenly sickened. I don't want to eat anymore of it. I don't want to eat anything else if Rose doesn't love me. Was that battle worth it if Rose was injured because of me and she _didn't_ love me?

I dash the rest of the porridge from my bowl as I close my eyes tightly to prevent tears from falling. I crack one open and rub it, as though it was irritated, as somebeast sits down next to me. Make that somebeasts. Groot, his wife, Purslane, and their son, Fluffle, have all sat down beside me. When I make eye contact with Purslane, she opens her mouth to say something, but she must have noticed I didn't want to talk. She nudges her husband, and I close my eye again as they walk away.

I suddenly, and surprisingly, feel the brush of another beast's fur against my own. I slit both eyes open, hoping beyond hope that it will be Rose, but it is only Fluffle. A tear runs from my eyes and drops onto Fluffle's head before I have time to stop it.

He wraps his tiny arms around me as far as they'll go. "Don't cwy, Mawtin. We wonned."

"I know, Fluffle. Run along now." I manage to get out a coherent sentence or two. So what if we had won?

Losing Rose would be too high a price to pay.

_Now you're just being selfish. Barkjon, Keyla, and probably the majority of the Rambling Rosehip Players, at least Ballaw and Rowanoak, would have been executed. And how many more would have been re-enslaved?_

But Rose is important to me. I shouldn't have to sacrifice something I love.

_You shouldn't have had to spend most of your childhood in slavery, either. Or lose your mother. Or have your father leave you when you were still very young. Lots of things we don't _want_ to happen, _do_ happen._

And what if Rose never recovers? It'll be all my fault. She nearly died trying to protect me from Badrang.

_That was her choice. If she's willing to sacrifice yourself to save you, that's her choice._

Does that mean she loves me?

_Would you have sacrificed yourself to save Felldoh?_

Yes...

_You're not in love with him, are you?_

* * *

I sit down on the sand, right below the tideline, so that the waves hit the pads of my footpaws. I draw my right leg up to my chest, but leave my left stretched in front of me, because I can't bend that knee with the splint on. I have a faint headache, but otherwise, I feel physically all right.

Mentally, though, I'm not so sure.

I nearly died.

I can't remember anything from before I was injured or how I was injured.

Martin nearly killed himself.

The list goes on and on.

At the moment, more than the fact that Martin tried to kill himself, is the memory of how his sword frightened me. It's just a sword, and he wouldn't have used it against me. He even _gave up_ his sword.

For what? For me? Why would he do that? I wish I could ask him, but I can't speak anymore than I can fly.

I stand up, biting my lip as my leg protests at being dragged upright. Maybe I can't ask Martin directly, but I could create a situation where he could explain himself.

I need that sword back.

I glance down at the splint. It's wood, but I can't imagine going into the water will harm it much. If it does, well, it'll hurt like Hellgates and I can get somebeast to make me a new one. Maybe Barkjon? He made me my crutches, so he could probably make a splint just as easily.

I balance on my right footpaw, letting my left leg hang loosely at my side. I bend down to one side, awkwardly, and grab my crutches. Nearly losing my balance, I throw them back farther on the sand, so they won't be washed away. I turn back to the water.

The first steps are the hardest. The sun is nowhere near its zenith, so the water is still freezing cold. I feel my dry fur prickle as my good leg starts to shake, and the leg I'm dragging begins to go numb. Martin had been standing close to this spot when he threw his sword, so I focus on watching the sand under and around me as I continue wading.

When the water goes up to my shoulders, I realize this is hopeless. There's no sign of the sword, and even if I couldn't spot it on my own, the sunlight might be glinting off it. Maybe I'll go just a bit farther.

Before I know what's happened, the water is up to my chin. I turn to wade back to shore, but the awkwardness of the splint on my leg causes me to back up slightly. The water rises up above my head in an instant.

I can't swim! I need to breathe. My lungs begin to hurt almost immediately. My leg and arms flail uselessly in the water. I'm slipping deeper and deeper into colder and colder water.

* * *

I pant as I run up to Martin. The mouse is sitting with his back stiff and straight against Marshank's inner wall. His eyes stare straight ahead, but I know he doesn't see anything that's there. "Martin! Martin – have – have you – have you seen – seen Rose?" I touch his shoulder to make sure he's aware that I'm there.

Martin looks up at me, his eyes like stone and his mouth is set in a hard line. "No," he says shortly. He then twists his head a little more to completely face me. "Did she ask for me?" His voice goes a little higher at the end of that sentence.

I just shake my head and motion frantically for him to get up. "Martin, I can't find her! I found her crutches lying on the sand, but she wasn't there."

The mouse leaps up, and his paw goes reflexively to where his sword had been hanging from his belt. His paw gropes for a few moments, until he glances down and remembers the sword is no longer there.

A minute later he's racing halfway to the burned out gates. He spins on his footpaws so fast he nearly falls over. "Brome – where did you find her crutches?"

"Er, right above the tideline, I think."

Martin nose twitches. He spins again, sprinting to the gate. Most of the creatures eating are staring at us now. The mouse grabs Keyla's tunic as he runs by, dragging the otter up, but not losing any speed. Tullgrew, who was eating with Keyla, jumps up as well, and the two of us run after the mouse and otter, Keyla now having caught up with Martin and going along for the ride.

The four of us hop around and over the piles of burned rubble that had been cleared into piles from the scorched gate frame by volunteer crews. Starwort and Marigold drop their own bowls of porridge, bound over the long tables where they were serving out everybeast's breakfast, and join us.

As soon as we leave Marshank, we can see Rose's crutches lying abandoned on the sand away in the distance. Keyla, who has better eyesight than Martin, and is the farthest in the lead, suddenly yells out, "Mates! Rose just went under."

The four otters dive into the water without leaving their run. Martin and I lose sight of them as they disappear out beyond the shallows.

* * *

I start to laugh as Keyla flicks a bit of porridge at me with a claw. I reach to flick him back, when I hear, "Brome – where did you find her crutches?"

"Er, right above the tideline, I think."

Crutches? Her crutches? _Rose's_ crutches?

Not a second later and Martin and Brome and sprinting headlong for the gate. Martin grabs the shoulder of Keyla's tunic, and I leap up to follow them. I stumble over a bit of rubble, but keep gamely on after Keyla, who's caught up with Martin.

As soon as we hit the sand, I hear Keyla cry, "Mates! Rose just went under." I glance quickly behind me, to see that Marigold and Starwort have joined us as well. The four of us dive into the sea.

The saltwater stings my muzzle and all the healing injuries, from enslavement and the battle, on my body. I grind my teeth, swimming even harder until I'm neck and neck with Keyla. Through the water, I can see a dark shape floundering. The shape becomes clearer as we swim closer.

It is definitely Rose, and her left leg is upsetting her balance, and she can't right herself in the cold water. Bubbles are rising to the surface from her muzzle as she runs out of air. When the four of us our almost upon her, we see her mouth gape wide, as she instinctively gasps for more air.

Her struggles worsen. She begins to sink down farther into the cold depths.

Keyla and I dive quickly after her. My lungs begin to burn as we start to catch up, but there's no time to go back to the surface to breathe again. A moment later, we reach Rose. Her eyes look glassy and her mouth is limply open. Her struggles have all but stopped by the time Keyla and I each latch onto one of her arms.

We point ourselves toward the light and blast upward through the water with our footpaws. Starwort and Marigold dive down from the surface and take Rose from us. Keyla and I swim the last few feet and break the surface.

I turn to face the crowd of creatures now gathered by Martin and Brome on the shore as I gulp air down. Keyla's chest is still heaving, but we look at each other briefly. His paw squeezes mine discreetly under the waves as we tread water. My face goes a little warm and I look away.

"A liddle 'elp, mates?" Marigold asks, from a little ways away, where she and Starwort are treading water and supporting Rose's head above the waves.

Keyla and I swim forward and each grab one of Rose's legs. I take care not to jostle her left leg. The splint's cloth bindings have all but fallen away from the mousemaid's struggles and the water itself. Marigold and Starwort each set a shoulder under Rose's upper back.

The crowd waits with baited breath as we swim back. When all our footpaws touch sand and the water falls below our waist, Starwort and Keyla carry Rose quickly, but gently, to where a few of Brome's assistant healers are waiting. Starwort and Keyla back away as the healers bend over her. I look over at where Martin and Brome are standing. The two of them are unconsciously huddling together and staring at Rose.

There is a loud gagging sound as one of the healers withdraws a paw from Rose's mouth. Two more healers ease her onto her side as she retches and vomits up quite a large quantity of water. "Breathe slowly," one healer instructs Rose.

She coughs for a few more seconds but then her chest begins to rise and fall regularly. Under her fur, she looks a little pallid. Around us, everybeast begins to cheer and applaud. Those closest to us, pat me and Keyla and Starwort and Marigold on the back.

I'm knocked out of the way of the congratulators as Brome suddenly rushes to his sister's side. "Rose! Rose, what we're you thinking?"

Rose doesn't say anything; she _can't_ say anything. "Maybe she was tryin' to kill 'erself," Keyla murmurs to Brome.

Brome's eyes slide over to Martin for a long moment, before he shakes his head. "No. She wouldn't've."

Rose weakly sits up, turning even whiter bordering on a tint of green. A healer emerges from the crowd and begins to resplint her leg. While this happens, the mousemaid points to Martin, mimes throwing something, then finally points to about the spot where we rescued her.

Keyla and I look quizzically at each other. Brome stares uncomprehendingly from Martin to the sea and back to Martin. Then his eyes widen. "The sword?"

Rose nods vigourously.

"You were trying to get Martin's sword back?"

Another nod.

I turn, noting Martin's shocked expression – I've never seen him show emotions other than anger, in time to see Keyla slip back beneath the waves. I blink a few times, before running into the water after him.

We swim out to the spot where we rescued Rose. "I'll search to the right." I nod and take a few deep breaths. I plunge under the surface to the left and swim down into the darkness. The bottom is just an inky splotch beneath me. I can hold my breath for quite a long time still, so I swim down towards it. The sun barely reaches down here, and the cold is stiffening my limbs.

I shake my head. This is useless. With one last glance and shuffle of my paws through the sand, I flip around so that my head is pointing upwards. I push off the bottom with my footpaws only to widen my mouth in sudden pain. Water rushes into my mouth, but I quickly clamp it shut and force myself to swallow the salty liquid.

The keen blade of the sword is now poking up through the sand and rocks. My lungs are burning. I grasp the hilt of the sword with a paw and push off again. My throat and mouth are on fire from the salt. Blood trickles from my footpaw as the light draws nearer. I kick once more with my legs and come up.

Keyla's waiting for me there. I draw the hilt of the sword a bit above the surface. He grins and dives back under to head for shore. I cough a couple times to try and clear some of the water from my body and sheath the sword awkwardly before following. I walk out of the sea and shake myself.

I haul the sword out and approach Martin. He's blinking rapidly, eyes misting a little. Rose's mouth is set in a tight, expectant line as Martin takes the sword from me. I hadn't even noticed until now the sword was gone.

"Wait just a minute." Geum elbows her way out of the crowd. "He risks his neck in that battle to get his sword back." The mousewife points a long claw menacingly at Martin. He opens his mouth to respond, but she plows on. "He risked all of us for something _he_ wanted, and then throws it away. What kind of hero is he?"

Geum storms away, and most of the creatures around us begin to mutter reproachfully. I'm shocked when many start to follow Geum's example. Rose frowns and tries to stand, but the healers hold her down. If she could speak, she'd be screaming right now. Soon, only Keyla, myself, Starwort, Marigold, Barkjon, Brome, a few healers, and Martin remain.

He's holding the sword in both paws: one gripping the hilt so hard his knuckles have turned white and the other supporting the blade out in front of his body. He swings it up and around before sheathing it in the scabbard he still had attached to his waist.

The mouse looks down at the sand before looking off into the distance at Marshank. His voice is dead and devoid of any emotion. "You were right, Barkjon. There's nothing left for me here." He turns and walks south, towards the cliffs. He walks away forever.


End file.
